The Couch, In the Beginning
by retirw
Summary: Methos loves Duncan's couch


Is this how mortals feel as they age?" Adam Pierson aka Methos the oldest man in the world moaned to himself as he shuffled off the freight elevator. The trench coat dropped with a heavy thud onto a chair, indicating a far heavier weight than that of a 'simple' coat. "At least I didn't get arrested for being a flasher." Methos admitted ruefully. "Good thing the boy scout is out trying to earn another merit badge or I'd never hear the end of this."

With a deep sigh Methos scowled down at the line of sutures dotting his naked torso in a Y pattern very familiar to any medical student. _Easier to remove these with scissors. Just look at how poorly these are done, there's no excuse for such shoddy work. I hope I scared that young idiot completely out of medical school. _The ancient fumed as he removed the loose sutures. _A long hot shower and then to bed. I'll worry about clothing later. _

Moving far easier Pierson exited the bathroom, wrapped in MacLeod's robe the exhausted immortal smiled warmly. _Wonder if I'd like MacLeod_ _so much if he didn't have the most comfortable couch in the world. _Methos snagged a beer out of the refrigerator twisted off the cap and tossed it behind the appliance, before taking a long swallow. A graceful bound and Methos sprang over the couch's back turning in the air perpendicular to the floor anticipating coming to rest on the cushions in his customary sprawl.

**_Methos_**

Duncan MacLeod and Amanda Darieux entered the Dojo wrapped in each other's arms in a more than just friendly fashion.

"Oh my you are a bit frisky aren't you?" Amanda giggled as Duncan's fingers did some walking.

"Are ye still ticklish my lovely?" the highlander asked revealing he was just a bit intoxicated. Fingers tugged clumsily on buttons.

"You ruin my dress and I'll make you very . . . very sorry."

"Like ye better wit'out it." Duncan leered.

**"What in Hell is that?" **The two immortals rapidly dropped coats and swords almost magically rested in suddenly tense hands. Duncan seemed to sober in an instant.

"It's the old man," Duncan muttered loosening his hold on the katana.

"Were you expecting him tonight?" Amanda demanded in a huff.

"Of course not. He's a bit upset." Duncan listened in awe at the profanity being used some two floors above him.

"Upset, it sounds like he's having a tantrum," Amanda noted. "You redecorated?" Amanda questioned able to translate some of the ongoing tirade.

"It is my home," Duncan reminded forcefully.

A huge crash filled the air, the mangled remains of what once was an antique Louis the XVI th divan now rested in the freight elevator obviously having been forcibly ejected from the living quarters two floors above.

"I don't think Adam likes the new decor," Amanda winced.

**_Methos_**

"It was getting very shabby and I decided it was time to redecorate." Duncan growled at the fuming ancient.

"Shabby? It was comfortable unlike that piece of crap you replaced it with. Why didn't you just throw a half tanned fur over a pile of rock? It certainly would have been an improvement," Methos snarled.

"It was shabby. There was that sword slash on the back," Duncan reminded becoming amused by Methos' hissy fit.

"That's what the Quechua blanket I gave you was for."

"The couch was lop-sided."

"I fixed that. A couple of books under the legs on that end took care of the problem."

"I know . . . one of them was a** first edition **of Darwin's **The Origin. of Species by Means of Natural Selection or the Preservation of Favoured Races in the Struggle for Life."**

"All that hog wash is good for. Believe me as long as I've been around I have yet to see spontaneous mutation creating a new species. Selectively breed all you want but a Chihuahua and a Great Dane are both still dogs. MacLeod, Darwin himself said and I quote. "**I cannot anyhow be contented to view this wonderful universe, and especially the nature of man, and to conclude that everything is the result of brute force. I am inclined to look at everything as resulting from designed laws, with the details, whether good or bad, left to the working out of what we may call chance."**

"What about the Neanderthals?" Duncan snorted.

"Have you never heard of dietary deficiencies. Those poor people had rickets among other things. If you actually kept up with modern scientific investigation you would have read the reports on recovered DNA. The Neanderthal DNA fall well within normal human genetic variations. Duncan, I am **not** forgetting about **my** couch," Methos reminded with a snarl, his knuckles whitened on the hilt of his sword.

"**Your **couch?"

"Alright, maybe it was your couch . . . but I have squatter's rights. Where is **the **couch?"

"Ritchie signed up for classes at Cascade at the start of the semester."

"Good for him. The **couch,** MacLeod."

"You got him interested in anthropology. Your little lecture on why he shouldn't expect people from different cultures to think like him."

"Ryan needs to broaden his horizons. Now back to the couch."

"It's too far to commute, so I helped him move into an apartment in Cascade." Duncan's dark eyes watched the older man closely.

"Ever the Boy Scout, now what did you do with the cou . . . You didn't! Ritchie, you gave **my** couch to RITCHIE?

"The apartment was unfurnished. So I gave him **MY** old couch since I was redecorating." Duncan suppressed his grin at the horrified look on Methos' face. "I assume helping me remove the remains of the divan would be too much trouble?"

Methos simply opened the refrigerator and removed another bottle of beer. Walking over he flopped down in a chair with a scowl.

"I take that as I'm on my own?" Walking over MacLeod." smirked down at the pouting immortal.

"Certainly I'll help MacLeod." Methos hooked a foot around the startled Duncan's ankle and jerked. The judicious application of the other foot sent MacLeod head first into the elevator shaft.

"That boy could tear up an anvil in a sand pile. There's nothing to do but get **my** couch back." Methos whimpered under his breath, snatched up his trench coat and headed for the fire escape all in one breath.

_**Methos**_

A much worse for wear Duncan MacLeod rode the noisy elevator up to his loft. _Hope the old man has calmed down._

Duncan's katana slid into his hands as the presence of the unknown immortal registered. "I don't remember inviting you?"

"You left the door open." The arrogant man nodded to the fire escape door gently swinging in the cool night air.

"So you decided to make yourself at home?" Duncan indicated the open beer bottle in the stranger's hand.

"Your hospitality is well known."

"Why are you here?"

"Oh you know, the same old, same old. A loaf of bread, a glass of wine and thy head," The other immortal smiled warmly.

"Your poetry is as bad as your manners," Duncan groaned. _Why me? First the old man and now this?_

"Everyone is a critic." The stranger dropped his beer and brought his sword into play.

Duncan pulled himself to his feet using the kitchen island. Looking around with a groan he took in the damage the quickening had created. _Time to redecorate . . . again. _

The phone began to ring somewhere towards the center of the room. By the time Duncan located the phone it had stopped. The answering machine stuttered into action from its upside down position against the wall.

"Mac . . . head hunter . . . town." Joe Dawson's barely recognizable voice was heard before the poor machine spluttered it's last.

Staring down at the obviously useless piece of technology MacLeod glowered. _To blazes wit' it I'm catching the next flight to Paris. _

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

I envision the couch traveling to many places and many crossovers during Metho's search. If you would like to write about an encounter please contact me, the more the merrier. First stop Cascade, Washington and a young immortal by the name of Ritchie Ryan. Anyone interested? Ezra Standish and Patrick Jane have been already snapped up.

**Rules:**

You may not damage the couch beyond repair. You may stain it, singe it, scrap it, loose the stuffings out of it. Reupholster it, repair mild frame damage etc. It may be lost, shipped to the wrong location, placed in storage etc. Time is not a real factor since Methos has more than his fair share.

The moving company used is ACME, a wholly owned subsidiary of Roadrunner Enterprises.

I don't write slash, so please don't consider a story that is for the arc.


End file.
